Haptic Communication
by maybemalapert
Summary: Derek is hit by sudden realization. Stiles is hit by Derek. [Please, read the warnings inside.]


**Notes:**

**Warnings, kinks and contents:** Spanking, public humiliation, nudity; set two years post season one. The spanking isn't intended to be sexual, but since Stiles definitely didn't agree to it, I'm slapping a _**noncon warning **_on this.

Much thanks to miya_tenaka and morganoconner for being lovely betas. Any remaining mistakes are entirely on me.

This story has also been published on Archive of Our Own.

* * *

**Haptic Communication**

* * *

It doesn't really pass him by that slamming Stiles against various flat surfaces (walls, rows of lockers, the fridge in the Stilinski kitchen, etc.) has long lost its efficiency in terms of getting him to shut up.

If there ever even had been any kind of effect. Derek racks his brain for it, but he can't seem to come up with a single instance where this maneuver has actually proved successful in the long run.

After two years of knowing the kid, it is high time he tries something else.

* * *

It isn't until Stiles bends over at the waist to pick something up from the floor of his room that Derek finally figures out just what to do with him. This probably only took so long because he didn't ever have a human childhood with the kind of human punishments that go with it, and so grabbing Stiles's neck and shaking him or turning his back and ignoring him or just simply snarling at him was generally his first reaction when he wasn't pushing him against flat surfaces.

He doesn't act on his newfound realization right away, because Stiles is Stiles and always runs off at the mouth and most of the time Derek doesn't even mind. It's just, sometimes he's saying something so stupid and fucking hare-brained and private and _invasive_or something that challenges his authority in front of the pack, and Derek can't have that, can't have Stiles not listening when Derek snarls at him that he really needs to stop.

So he needs to make this really memorable, and now is not the time; not yet.

* * *

The opportunity presents itself three days later. Really, it was just a matter of time. Derek is talking to Isaac and Scott, instructing them where to go and what to do in case of another attack by the headache that are the alpha vampires come to town, when Stiles opens his mouth to proclaim that it's fine, that Isaac can rest because Stiles will go on the stake-out thing with Scott.

And no, Derek tells him, he won't. Because there's a chance the vamps will notice and Stiles, being human, is not fast enough to outrun them, unlike Isaac and Scott.

It should have settled the argument. Aside from the fact that it makes perfect sense, Derek is the alpha. What he says, goes.

So, of course, Stiles protests. Correction, he doesn't protest. He rolls his eyes, tells Isaac to stay in, that he's got this covered because he's the Batman to Scott's Robin, no really, he is. Batman. Totally. And this is extra funny because _bat_and vampires and really, werewolves have no sense of humor, do they?

He just carries on like that as if Derek hadn't even spoken, and now Derek's standing there like an idiot while Stiles has the whole pack focused on him, even Peter; though Peter is actually also raising an eyebrow at Derek and Derek doesn't even need to be able to read his expression because he's having the same thought.

A real alpha - a _good_alpha - can't let this threat to his authority pass.

Derek doesn't take in a deep breath, doesn't hold it, doesn't let it out slowly. Doesn't even count to ten or any such thing to center himself and get his irritation under control because, fuck, he's irritated, and he wants everyone to know it. So his eyes go red and his claws come out and a second later he's grabbing Stiles by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the one good chair in the abandoned factory they've turned into their new meet-up place after the bus depot was blown up and burnt down to the ground by witches.

Derek sits, pulling Stiles down with him until he's bent at a ninety degree angle, squawking and flailing.

"You can either push down your pants and boxers yourself, or I'm going to remove them for you."

"_The fuck, man?_ First, no. Second, no. Third, we're in the middle of a big factory hall and everyone is watching and I'm _not_into public displays of nudity. Hey!"

That was a _no_, then. Derek reaches towards Stiles's ass and drags his claws through the fabric of both his pants and boxer. Stiles squeals, flailing more than ever, and tries to twist away, but Derek kicks at his legs and pushes and a moment later, Stiles is lying sprawled over Derek's lap. Derek moves his own leg to trap one of Stiles's then shifts his left hand to press down on Stiles's back.

"Derek, what the fuck? No, really, what the fucking fuck? Let me go!" The scent of embarrassment and humiliation hits Derek's nose and he thinks, _good_.

"No." He casts an eye at the rest of his pack. Isaac's blinking, but staying where he is. Peter's smirking; Scott...Scott is frozen, but starting to get a mutinous expression on his face. Derek quells him with a look and a flash of teeth.

And Scott might be rebellious as hell, but this is why Derek's actually pulled him aside two days before and explained in painstaking detail and step by step why he cannot have Stiles running his mouth off at him.

It probably helps that Scott seems to think some payback is in order for the kind of things Stiles pulled on him while teaching Scott to control himself.

In retrospect, Derek approves of Stiles's methods because they were effective; he didn't tell Scott this.

"No? _No?_Are you out of your mind? What-argh!" The first slap can't really have hurt all that much. Derek's been careful, so it must be the shock or the realization of what is happening to him that has Stiles shouting at the top of his lungs. He tries to wriggle away, but Derek has a firm hold on him and his superior strength makes this an exercise in futility.

"You're apparently unable to grasp that I'm pack leader and you submit to my authority and not the other way round."

"Jesus, Derek. I'm-" The next slap is harder, and this time Stiles only swears once before _continuing to talk_. "-18, not 8. Let me go _right now_."

"You're behaving like a child," Derek says, "and until you bare your throat and accept your place in the hierarchy, we will keep doing this." He rains another slap down Stiles's ass, a lot harder than the previous ones, and Stiles gasps. Derek doesn't let him recover his wits long enough to answer because he knows that Stiles is far from the point where he'd willingly submit. He moves his hand up and down at a steady pace, watching the skin of Stiles's cheeks redden, blood rushing up to the surface. Stiles is trying to gasp out words in between, but Derek barely listens, only registering the sounds in so far as to determine that he needs to up the pace here and the force, too, because apparently it isn't doing anything.

He brings down his hand on one particularly red spot on Stiles's ass with enough force to make his own skin feel the sting hard, and Stiles howls. No other word for it, and it's at this point that Derek realizes how incredibly satisfying this is.

He's almost hoping Stiles will try to challenge him again because this is better than running or exercising until his instincts claim him and he doesn't need to think anymore, just be.

Derek stops, breathing hard and feeling like he's just run thirty miles. He looks down at Stiles, noticing the shivers and the sniffling and the scent of tears mixed in with the humiliation.

No words, though. For the first time since Derek can remember, Stiles stays silent.

Derek removes his hand from Stiles's back, then lifts his head to give a silent command to Isaac. They have spare clothes in a back room; can't not with the amount of bleeding and ripping that their clothing suffers through.

On his lap, Stiles shifts, grasping for Derek's hand or chest or some kind of purchase, anyway, to half turn and look up at Derek. His eyes are red-rimmed and his mouth is pressed into an unhappy line. Derek puts his right hand back on Stiles's ass and back and starts to gently stroke and pet him because that's what you do when a chastised pack member finally looks like the lesson's sunk in.

Stiles exhales harshly and drops his eyes before shakily tilting his head and...baring his throat. Yeah, definitely, that's baring his throat.

Derek lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It feels like about a ton of weight just lifted from his shoulders; weight that he hadn't noticed until it was gone either. He pats Stiles's back one final time before pushing and pulling him up, accepting the pants Isaac hands him and pushing them into Stiles's hands.

"Go change. I'll need you ready to go and drive the getaway car from the morgue."

"Morgue?" Stiles rasps out.

"Yes. We need deadman's blood to kill those suckers. Now go." He stands up and pushes past Stiles, turning to Peter to give him his own instructions. Stiles hesitates before shuffling off to the next room, scent of tears finally changing into one of determination and, yes, acceptance.

Good.


End file.
